


(in the winter) my bones grow weary (with all the weight they carry)

by Marked_by_moonlight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Ned Stark, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, King Ned Stark, Multi, Ned Stark Lives, POV Ned Stark, R Plus L Equals J, Scottish Character, The King in The North
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-22 14:15:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22984069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marked_by_moonlight/pseuds/Marked_by_moonlight
Summary: In some other life, all that is left of the true North is ashes and snow. The wolfpack scattered and only the Red Wolf is left to lead the remnants of her people.But in this one the North keeps its own counsel from the very beginning, and that changes everything.ORI explore Historical Fantasy through my favorite characters and everything is fine.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Jon Snow & Ned Stark, Lyanna Stark & Ned Stark, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Ned Stark & Rickard Stark, Robert Baratheon/Lyanna Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	(in the winter) my bones grow weary (with all the weight they carry)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own GoT. Please don’t sue me!

Ned is in the Godswood, Ice beside him in its scabbard. The cold Northron wind swirls snowflakes as large as his pinky nail through the air. The branches of the sentinel pines creak lowly, and somewhere far off he can hear one of them splinter into a thousand different shards as the sap freezes.

His gloved hand reaches up to smooth over the heavy lines of his face. A sigh flows out of him, unbidden. The weight of all the things he has lost sits heavy with him today, like a lodestone around his neck. It is a burden that he will always carry, because the crown that sits in the false bottom of his solar desk is a reminder that the price for Independence was far, far too high.

He bears his teeth in a snarl at the thought of Rhaegar Targaryen. The man was a craven of the worst kind, one who whispered promises of Northern Independence to his wolf-wild sister. Who took a girl of six and ten and left her to die in a room of shriveled winter roses, a room full of blood.

‘Dragons only leave blood and ash in their wake.’ He thinks, bitterly.

He had not a single bone of his father’s to bury, only a pile of ashes. His little sister died clutching at bloodstained sheets, so far from home, with only her older brother and a squalling newborn babe for company.

There had been nothing he could do. He could only prevent it from happening again. To leave the North was folly, to go south of the Neck was folly. Eddard Stark would remain in the North, keeping his bannermens counsel, and steadfastly ignoring the crown of bronze and iron that lay hidden and heavy beneath a false bottom of a drawer.


End file.
